


Reprieve

by SeeNashWrite



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Heart-Grabber, Introspection, Lessons learned, Life Choices, One-Shot, Redemption, Second Chances, soul-stirrer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-12 19:48:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15347391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeeNashWrite/pseuds/SeeNashWrite
Summary: There are many mistakes thought lost to time, filed away as impossible to fix. But perhaps they aren’t as far gone as it seems. Perhaps it’s just that some mistakes can’t be set right by the ones who’d made them.





	Reprieve

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: It’s been suggested I tackle this subject/setting multiple times, might not be exactly how you’d imagined it playing out, but let’s see if we can’t remedy the situation to some degree of satisfaction because, to be sure, it’s been a long time coming.  
> *  
> Warning Note: Moderate allusion to past trauma: suicide; should you desire more detail without being spoiled entirely, go past the story to the End Notes prior to reading. As I say, it is in the past and only the ripple effect is pertinent to the story.

So  _this_ was the infamous Cage.

The entrance sealed itself not a second after she’d taken her first steps, she’d known it was coming, no need to turn around. Placing a hand on the rail, she surveyed the area ahead as she began her descent. Not terribly impressive, her host, but the details of the welcome mat were an intriguing pitch, she’d give it that much.

A lifetime ago, when she was maybe six or seven years old, she’d gotten separated from her parents as they were all rushing down the steps leading to the subway, and she distinctly remembered the entirety of the incident, the entirety of the day when her life changed course. The nervous excitement she’d felt that morning upon her father saying,  _“Let’s go take a ride”_ , and her impatience with her mother fussing over what outfit was most appropriate for a trip to the zoo. She’d had a small camera, a recent birthday gift from her grandmother, in her pocket, and could recall the  _very_ serious concerns she’d had on the walk to the station, wondering if the exotic birds could be captured by her lens, or if they’d fly too high for her to find.

And then, in the time it took her to blink, the only two people she had in her life, the ones who’d vowed to protect her, had vanished.

The sounds of the people chatting loudly above her and around her and beside her made her ears throb, the smell of food and cigarettes on their clothes as they brushed by her face stung her nose, rolled her stomach, and how their bodies bumped each other, jostling her around, their weight pressing into her - it brought up an emotion she’d not yet experienced in her young life. It was the panic of abandonment. She was surrounded, but alone.

She could still call up the feel of her small hands pressing into her ears to drown out the noise, and the sensation of the collar of her pink chenille jacket against her face when she ducked her head, wanting to hide and be seen in the same moment. She’d clenched her eyes tightly once she’d managed to make it to a barely-there corner just to the side of the staircase, and it worked well enough. But clearest of all in her mind was the flashing and the buzzing.

One of the overhead lights at the bottom of the stairs had been flickering its last, sending out a death rattle at a pitch that snaked into her head no matter what she did, its pulse vacillating between hardly a shimmer and something like the sun, cutting through her eyelids. The feeling would never leave her, the sense that there was little she could do if the world was conspiring against her. The sense of being caught in a maze, struggling to find the one turn that would mean freedom, only to realize the exit was actually a trap.

The Cage had done its homework. The number of stairs, and the myriad cracks in the tiled walls were exact, the rounded entryway to the platform the precise shade of yellowed-white, and while there was no ceiling to speak of, just a boundless void, it  _did_ arrange for some ambiance via scant buzzing and muted flickers, despite the lack of the overhead light. One thing, however, was different. 

A bright but pleasant glow was coming from around the corner, from the platform and the train, the effect waxing and waning, as if the Cage were calmly inhaling and exhaling - a prodding from her host, a not-so-subtle  _Come this way_. She had such recall, it didn’t matter, not the light, not how dark it was in the stairwell, nor that the void was trailing lazily behind. The whole of it could’ve been a starless night, and she still would’ve known the way.

Initially, when the current task fell upon her shoulders and before she was fully briefed, she’d expected to find a winding catacomb of sorts, filled with nightmare-inducing imagery, God’s very own memento mori for his fallen star; then she’d been told the Cage was different for everyone. It was adaptable, solid and fluid all at once, balanced but unhinged, exacting yet scattered. A real oobleck oubliette.

The stray thought caused her to break form, a corner of her mouth tilting a bit despite the circumstances, but she sobered right up when the non-existent light cut out with a sharp pop that sounded - to her ears - like the shatter of the camera’s lens when it hit the concrete floor, the day she’d first been here. She’d dropped it at the initial shock of being lost. Lost, and to her heart, forgotten. And every person in that loud, smelly crowd were oblivious to her precious camera getting kicked around, to how their stomps ground the plastic and glass into powder, a crunching she could hear, even over her sobs.

The present crunch beneath her boots was more resonant, filling the space, but she’d learned how to do some ignoring herself as time went by. She didn’t want to know what it was, she didn’t bother to imagine what it was, same with the nearby scritching and distant growls, and she’d have told the Cage it could do better than that, but it would’ve been a waste of breath. It could, it would, and it did.

A lifetime ago, when she was maybe sixteen or seventeen years old, she’d gotten separated from her parents as they were all rushing to anywhere and everywhere, and she distinctly remembered the entirety of the incident, the entirety of the day when her life changed course The conviction she’d felt when she’d decided on the how and the when and the where, the apathetic manner in which she wrote and signed the note, and the curiosity, after, when she was hovering in the corner of her bedroom, hearing her father make some sort of inhuman sound as he dropped to his knees, the note falling with him. She watched the stoicism he’d carefully cultivated in himself as he’d grown older, grown  _bitter_ , fall away, too.

Then, later, the curiosity had persisted. She was still just out of sight, it seemed, since her sharp-eyed mother looked right through her on the repeated trips to and from the closet, fussing over what outfit was appropriate for the viewing, even though there  _couldn’t_ be a viewing, which was  _obvious_ , which was why it was curious. And most curious of all was the last thing they did for her, a gesture she’d not seen the likes of in many years, one not afforded to her, certainly not to each other. She’d been standing in the shadow cast by the thick trunk of a tree, unnoticed, when they’d placed a small photograph atop her casket; not one of the three of them, she hadn’t smiled in those for years. This was her favorite picture, and she hadn’t thought they’d known.

It was the one-and-only she’d taken with her camera, en route to the subway and the promised ride to the most wonderful place she’d ever been. The photo was of a pigeon who’d been toddling along a brownstone’s porch, caught just as it had begun to flap its wings, preparing for launch. It was off-center, and blurry, and messy, and perfect. The captured memory had been salvaged from the dropped camera, the film roll bruised but not broken, because in truth, they’d found her quickly that day. They’d scooped up the pieces, lifted her high off the ground, took her away from the chaos. She’d remembered this part far too late.

 _That_ was the most curious of all - the clarity. Some things couldn’t have been helped, but plenty could’ve. No convoluted reasoning, no one thing on which to hang understanding; she’d reached her limit, the end. Walked out the door, straight to the subway, same line from the way-back-when, even, and kept a steady pace right off the edge. Pity no one can testify to those who remain about the crushing regret that kicks in approximately one second into taking the leap, how it invades the brain right when the point of no return arrives, how its friend clarity disappears the current, once-perfect plan, and the list of solutions to previously unsolvable things steps in to take its place.

She remembered the brief joy of the realization that the impossible just might be do-able,  _live_ -able, before she came to an abrupt halt. And she knew exactly what she would say if she could speak to those who remained:  _I thought you gave up on me. But that’s not really why I left. I left because I gave up on me._  That’s the catch when it comes to the deals offered to folks in her position: you can only remember what you want to forget.

Because she knew this already, it was surprising that her custom-fit cage  _didn’t_. There was enough hazy illumination drifting about as she passed by the tracks for her to have seen the stopped but still-vibrating cars, though the Cage didn’t bother with the screech of the brakes, or the onlookers’ screams, none of the pounding footsteps of their escape, didn’t even go the extra mile and splash around any blood. Like the last time she’d found herself in this spot, she paid no mind to what surrounded her, and her pace didn’t slow, and she didn’t falter as she went over the edge, but on  _this_ occasion she hopped, landed solidly on her feet, proceeded down the tunnel, even walked atop the rail for awhile, executed an occasional gymnast-worthy spin, until, she supposed, the Cage had given up trying to pitch its hopeless sale.

She’d already bought hopelessness once, kept the receipts, and returned it long, long ago.

The room where she found him had three walls, no door, she simply went from the tunnel’s uneven gravel to the smooth wood flooring of the strange diorama. It was here she opted to peek over her shoulder - this she  _had_ to see, if the Cage was actually going to have once last go, if it would, if it  _could_ , and it did, though the effort was half-hearted, so to speak; the wall that had appeared was easily punchable plaster. No chance she couldn’t tear it down. And if what she’d been told was accurate, if she’d succeeded in navigating the maze, the exit - the  _real_ exit - would be right on the other side when it was time to leave. In her mind, that moment had arrived; as for him, she couldn’t be sure. Stay long enough, even a tomb can start to seem like a home.

It wasn’t dark, but it wasn’t light. It wasn’t loud, but it wasn’t quiet. There was no torture, but there was no peace. It just  _was_. Unnerving little nook, she’d freely admit it. And then there was its occupant: he was an unmoving figment, a breath away from being out of sight, the kind that would vanish in the time it took to blink.

She’d prepared her mind, practiced the how, done her homework on the when and the where, all the things one does when readying themselves for a difficult task, yet now that she’d pushed through to the end, when it was almost finished, she didn’t have the first clue as to what to say. What do you  _say?_  There weren’t enough apologies, never could be, and who’d care? She was a stranger, and on purpose, just some a-hole on a holy mission. She wasn’t anyone who owed remorse. She wasn’t anyone who owed love. She was no one to him, no one at all.

So they stared at him, she and the Cage, had the feeling he was staring right back, watching as the walls began to warp, and her weight shifted from foot to foot, one or the other occasionally tapping as she pondered, the floorboards creaking as the Cage did the same, and just when the shadow started to slink away—-

“Hey, Adam…”

The retreat was halted. The weakened walls began to crumble. The soft smile she seldom showed made a one-night-only appearance as she extended a hand.

“…let’s go take a ride.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is fuel! Let me know if you enjoyed - Nash.  
> *  
> *  
> *  
> *  
> The protagonist is in the present state/form because they are dead as a result of suicide. The incident itself is not outlined in detail, rather the focus is on her memories surrounding it and her memories immediately after (it’s a supernatural story, after all). No detail is given as to her life struggles, just a broad stroke regarding her reasoning for making this decision, because it’s not what the core of the story is about.
> 
> I do pointedly allude to the method she chose to employ, as it is germane to the story. The method is *exceedingly* uncommon, so the chance of you personally knowing someone who did such is not impossible, but likely improbable. Yes, I checked statistics. Because, nerd. A conscientious nerd, though.
> 
> To give it an apples-to-apples comparison, it is hell and gone from what we witnessed in the episode where Kelly commits suicide. While I do think it was an ideal way to establish the beginnings of Jack’s power, as typical with the show, I took umbrage with *how* they did it. I found the length and the visuals of that scene to be incredibly unnecessary, not to mention inappropriate, just to give you an idea of where my head is at when it comes to the topic.


End file.
